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CASA BLANCA 



THE LIBRARY OP 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copies Rflceived 

MAY 8 1Q03 

Copyright Entry 

cuss CX- XXa No. 

COPY B, 






Copyright, 1903 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 



Published, May, 1903 



Zbe Itnickerbocitcr press* -new iQorlt 



CONTENTS 

Second Day at Sea 
Fourth Day at Sea 
Fifth Day at Sea . 
Entering San Juan Harbor 
From My Balcony 
In Decay 

To . 

The Master . 

Silence . 

At San Juan 

Life — Tapestry 

A Transmigration 

Beseeching . 

Night's Betrayals 

Beauty's Persistence 

At Parting . 

Music's Secret 

A Parallel . 

Why? . 

The Last Egotist 

In Pace 

Secret Searchings 

Poppies 

Plea of the Inarticulate 



PAGE 
I 
2 

3 
4 

5 
6 

7 
8 

9 

lO 

II 

12 

13 
14 
15 
i6 

17 
i8 

19 
20 
22 
24 
26 
27 



ni 



With Chopin 

Inevitable 

An Exemplar 

December 

" The Day Is Dark " 

Oneness in Separateness 

Life — Ingenuous 

Love's Plea . 

The First Shall Be Last 

Sequence Sonnets 

The Leper's Isle . 

What They Say . 

To . 

Music's Mystery . 

The Pink Palace . 

After Waiting 

Love — Incongruous 

Death and Love . 

Rondel 

The River 

Sorrow's Fidelity . 

Just There . 

In Our Garden — San Juan 

Courage ! 

''A Little Longer Stay 

Through Wreck . 

From Our Windows 

Advice to the Poet 

Is Not— Is . 



IV 













PAGE 


For Us 59 


Color-Clans . 










60 


The Kind Old World . 










61 


Its Way 










62 


Love's Inconsequentiality 










63 


The Night Waves 










64 


" Be Bold ; Be Not Too Boh 


d" 








65 


At Santuree . 










66 


A Spanish Morning 










68 


St. Thomas . 










69 


Rondel 










71 


Belied .... 










72 


The Other Scale . 










73 


The One Door 










74 


Perhaps 










75 


The Poet's Mission 










. 76 


Love and Life 










• 77 


Dervish Days 










78 


An Apology . 










• 79 


Without One, the Other 










. 80 


Lost, but Gained . 










. 81 


Her Jealousy 










82 


By the Shore 










83 


Three Sequence Sonnets 










. 84 


Voyage Done 










. 87 


Unfulfilled . 










88 


Fulfilled 










. 89 


Rondel .... 










. 90 


Her Avowal . 










91 



Sonnet . 
Noblesse Oblige 
In Memoriam 
On the Way . 
Nearing 

Consolation of a Modern Mystic 

Quatrains 

Forget— Not Forget 



PAGE 
92 

93 
94 

95 
96 

97 

99 

100 



VI 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Casa Blanca Frontispiece 

Sea Wall 4 

Cristobal ....... 10 

Young Palms 16 

Sentinel Box ........ 40 

Old Palms 56 

Bluebeard Tower ....... yo 



SECOND DAY AT SEA 

TO-DAY the seas stretch forth to us white hands, — 
White urgent hands from out the chmbing 
waves, 

Strange phantom hands above unsounded caves, 
Where Hfe, as here, obeys but death's commands. 
And destiny serenely plots and plans 

The lot of creatures deeper down than graves. 

These pleading hands, this ocean voice that craves 
Our help or pity ! We of other lands 
Are impotent as they to question fate. 

Or torture from her answers to all cries 
Of why she wreaks on man an occult hate, — 

Or hapless wisdom that is never wise ; 
Unlearned all lessons, save in fantasy. 
We, too, stretch helpless hands from life's dark sea. 




FOURTH DAY AT SEA 

MORE reticent to-day, and more subdued, 
The ocean's heart still beats in deep and vast 
Ensurgements. Full of tangled shades that cast 
An opalescent gleam of greens emblued. 
And white less sternly white than golden-hued, — 
A p^lamor of all hues that ne'er outlast 
The light that touches them and then is past, — 
This is our sea's emblazoned solitude. 



We seem the centre of a universe 

Of sea and sky, and sky and sea, that care 

No whit for mortals, and do but rehearse 

The diapasons learned when youth, with love. 
Was born into a life most new and fair ; — 

Thus, in this moving circle, on we move. 



FIFTH DAY AT SEA 

NOT beauty is this, but the simple soul 
Of beauty bare, enframed in majesty 
Inviolate, encompassed with the free 
White silences of heaven and earth that roll 
Forever on from farthest pole to pole, 
And with eternal space do well agree. 
All things save space and time we seem to see 
Engulfed forever, while sad oceans toll 
Low requiems of unnamed significance. 
The sunsets are allied to human sense 
Alone — alone to human grief or fear, 
As, draped in mourning robes of royal red, 
And bowed in woe above his regal bier. 
These tropic skies bewail their sun-king dead. 




ENTERING SAN JUAN HARBOR 

LIKE to a dream fulfilled into the light, 
And web of delicate color, and slow streams 
Of iridescence that in morning's beams 
Invest the waiting world, — so to my sight 
Came this long curving bay; these mountains bright 
With shaded blues and amaranthine gleams ; 
These hills pyramidal that man, meseems, 
Has never marred ; these palms of slender might. 



But more insistent e'en than all of these, 
The haughty Morro, frowning Christobel, 

Did rise from out the ocean by degrees 

And strive in hoary pride their tale to tell ; — 

Built but for strength, protection, to all seas 
Now boast they higher claims of beauty's spell. 




SEA WALL 



FROM MY BALCONY 

THE Southern Cross stands lonely, and in size 
Less proud than other constellations near,— 
Less brilliant it may be, though not less clear, — 
And near the horizon keeping in disguise 
Of lowliness that with the humblest vies. 
What is the secret of a grace that here 
With pregnant pathos nightly doth appear. 
And almost brings the tears unto one's eyes? 

And why, alas, do clouds so often hide 
The fair proportions of this mystic form ? 
Veiling a sweetness that must still abide 
Whate'er would strive to mar a majesty 
Of gracious meaning ; it defies all harm. 
And arms of welcome flings athwart the sky. 



IN DECAY 

A HOPE lay like a rose upon my heart, — 
A rose half opened with the steady stress 
Of too much sweet in too much finiteness. 
This flower, encolored by the facile art 
Of long-enamoured suns, and winds that start 
And thrill, then faint to whispers, did confess 
The sway of o'erwrought joy in tenderness, 
And beauty's thraldom that will not depart. 

This rose of hope upon my heart still lies, 
Though wan and faded are its roseate dyes, — 

Though still unopened with each opening year. 
Heart, scatter not those petals ! Heart, be wise ! 
Beat lower, heart ! ah, let thy throbs and sighs 

Be hushed to something stiller than a tear. 



TO- 



IF it shall, by and by, 
Befall that you and I, 
On some dull shore, 
Must live on, each alone. 
With youth and courage gone. 
And friendship o'er, — 

I even then may find 
That future not unkind ; 

What e'er Heaven sends 
My foolish heart will sigh — 
Or sing — unceasingly, — 

We have been friends ! 



THE MASTER 



MANY seas shall seek the shore, 
Many storms the skies beget 
Ere sovereign Love his reign deplore,- 
Ere Love his lore forget. 

Many frosts shall wreck the rose 
And grieve the lily-bud ere yet 

Shall Love his mystery disclose, — 
His mystery forget. 

Many moons shall swim the blue, 

Many stars arise and set, 
Ere Love forget the joy he knew, — 

Ere Love the grief forget. 

Many eves shall stain the west. 
Or dull it with a long regret. 

Ere Love deny his ardent quest, — 
Ere Love his youth forget. 

Many aeons shall decay, 

Many tears with tears be met, 

Ere Love forget his nay and yea, — 
Ere Love shall Love forget. 



SILENCE 



WHO loveth not the soul of music 
In sighing sedge or wind-swept tree ? 
Who loveth not its open secret 
In the sea? 

Who loveth not the sounds that quicken 

Fainting heart-beats, failing fires 
Of vaulting hope and nascent courage, 
And young desires. 

Music solace is : — believe me, 
Silence hath a loftier trust ! 
Older than old time its sway is, 
More august. 

Ancient are the ocean's chorals, 

Spheral song has years untold ; — 
More original is silence, — 

And more old. 



AT SAN JUAN 

THE ramparts stretch and climb,- 
Rent and hoary, — 
All along the bay 
Where the rocks are gray, 
Gray almost as time 

And time's story. 

Where begins the Morro? 

Where does end? 
What is nature's part, 
What the work of art ? 

Who shall say or know, — 

So they blend. 

The vaster Christobel 

Up the steep, — 

All grim with scar and frown 

Lords it o'er the town, 

Like ancient sentinel 
Half asleep. 

And everywhere you find 

White fingers of the sea 
In tender, crooning pity 
Around the mouldering city 
Softly are entwined, 

And ceaselessly. 




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CRISTOBAL 



LIFE — TAPESTRY 

WE sit and weave the tapestry of life 
In rooms so dark, mayhap, we scarce can see 
The golden hues of broken fantasy, 
Or discord colors that are rudely rife 
With disillusion, melancholy, strife. 
And still we, tangling, weave, and still agree 
We know not what the fabric is to be. 
Nor yet to cut the thread where find a knife. 

Thus on the wrong side do we work in vain 
When dull the creaking loom is in our ears. 
And with blind eyes that feel, howe'er we strain, 
The apprehensions that old hopes deride, 
Forgetting that we shall, when death appears. 
Go round and see it on the other side. 



A TRANSMIGRATION 

THE proud prepared sun lay down to die 
On couch magnifical, of purple state : 
The golden steps that led whereto he sate 
Were thronged with phantom shapes of visage high,- 
Cloud-forms, instinct of awe and mystery, 
That knelt in worship to the king who late 
Had swayed a sceptre of most ancient date, 
Now sunk to pale disaster's cruelty. 

But, sudden, as I looked, in quick amaze, 
Some random god, it seemed, in wanton ire. 
Did light that crumbling throne as funeral pyre. 

And low it burned to ashes in swift ways 
To ruin dear ; lo, now, like slain desire. 

Those ashes into steadfast stars do blaze ! 



BESEECHING 

PRAY thou for blindness ! Pray for happy eyes 
That cannot see the faults of beings made 
To love and be beloved, — howe'er delayed 
The beauty, goodness, that our prayers and cries 
Of longing could not bring in any guise. 

Shall man judge man? Shall mote by beam be 

weighed 
Before a God who needs no human aid 
To see all truth, — all ill that truth denies. 

More meek, O soul ! Think only piteous good 

Of every fault and sin. And love without 

Reserve even one who would thy love deny. 

All evil must be good not understood ! 

Ah, hazard not a shade of blame or doubt 

Of any creature God has made to die ! 



13 



NIGHT'S BETRAYALS 

BESIDE me lies the shining tropic night, 
With folded feet and eyelids closed in rest. 
With arms clasped softly on her heaving breast, 
The floating hair, with pearls of dew bedight, 
Which slender fingers of the wind aright 
Smooth and mislay, in loyalty caressed, — 
Immortal love half mortally confessed, 
Significant of peace and gentlest might. 

But what melodious whispers fill the deep 

Of space? What sounds with silence interlace ? 

The night is surely talking in her sleep ! 
I question her, she answers with a grace 

Of fine intelligence, — half words, half sighs, — 

Unconscious both of questions and replies. 



14 



BEAUTY'S PERSISTENCE 

IN MEMORIAM 

HAST thou some thoughts of this vexed shabby 
earth ? 
Some tinged recollection of its dreams, 
Its shadowy hopes and fears, illusive gleams, — 
The iridescence that we misname mirth ? 
Canst thou revivify in thought the dearth, 

The sudden chill we find in all earth's streams? 
Or hast thou charm to kindle kindlier beams 
From out wan suns and moons that lose their worth ? 

Mayhap for good it were if this were true, — 
If thus thou could'st restore what thou, alas, 

Hast robbed away from earth that is her due ; 
But if this be not, if earth's best must pass 

With thee to realms that need no fair increase, 

Still in our hearts thy beauty shall not cease. 



15 



AT PARTING 

RONDEL 



WE yet shall meet ! 
Sometime, somewhere, 
Or here or there, — 
Somehow, my Sweet. 

Let vain defeat 
Have well a care ! 
We yet shall meet ! 
Should I despair? 

A faith complete 
My heart doth swear ; 
For love most rare 
Must love entreat : — 
We yet shall meet ! 



16 



MUSIC'S SECRET 

ONE tells me grief shall die, — that ancient grief 
Worn out, forgotten, lies within a past 
Itself forgotten, threadbare, and at last 
In grim oblivion finding kind relief. 
He says that grief than joy is e'en more brief, 
More dateless, fugitive, and more aghast 
At any dream of phantom shadows cast 
On futures that must brighten past belief. 

But I, alas, find genius gains best grace 
Alone in grief ; a future haunting woe 

That triumphs in the virgin's happy face, 
A fatal prophecy that lives below 

Portrayal of all human love ; — I gain 

A dear relentless woe in music's pain. 



17 



A PARALLEL 

I TRACED the river to its infancy : 
A shadowy fountain is the mystic source 
Whence in a timid path it winds a course 
Through stones and grasses in uncertainty 
Of whether roots and brambles will agree 
To welcome or to hinder it, perforce. 
Soon with remonstrance it grows dull and hoarse; 
And then, with fuller manhood, boundeth free 
In cadenced chant to dream and meditate 
Upon the images within its breast. 
Soon it will challenge precipice, then, late, 
In frenzy of convulsive joy and motion, 
Will, without age or death, at last find rest 
Within the bosom of its god — the ocean. 



i8 



WHY? 



WE live.- 
It may be well to live ; 
We die, — 
It must be well to die. 

But why 
In living must we still be dying, 
In staying evermore be flying, — 
Ah, why ? 

We love, — 
It must be well to love ; 

We sigh, — 
It may be well to sigh. 

But why 
In loving must we still be grieving. 
By grieving love of love bereaving,- 

Ah, why? 

We live, 
We love, we sigh — to die ; 

And this 
Must be the better bliss. 

But why 
Is death life's one dissever 
From grief, love's last endeavor, — 

Ah, why ? 



19 



THE LAST EGOTIST 



I, the Ineffable, 

Crouch here in the darkness. 

I, indiscriminate, 

Yet patiently heedful, 

Can wait and can outwait 

All things. My seasons 

Are fruitful. The slow spring. 

The casual lightning 

Edging with scarlet 

A blue-blackened cloud-rent 

Work for my harvests. 

I, the Immeasurable, 

Seek not and will not ; 

All things must come to me, 

Won, and yet wooed not. 

All that is grows for me, 

Lives for me, toils for me, — 

I can be patient ! 

Jealously, hatred. 

Slave for me secretly ; 

Suns and seas zealously ; 

Ghost-moons masquerade for me. 

I, the Inscrutable, 

Lurk low in the shadows, — 

And near thee ! Ah, nearer 

20 



Than thought could prefigure ! 
Life's bud is my blossom ; 
Earth's love an aroma 
Brave in my nostrils ! 
Yet Discontent shrewdly 
Gnaws at my vitals ; 
For, spite of this greatness, 
A Greater enthralls me ! 



21 



IN PACE 

" When half-gods go, the gods arrive," 

WHERE the tree falleth 
There let it lie ! 
Where the past sickens 

There let it die ! 
Some sunshine still may bless, 
Kind memories still caress — 
Some dirges sigh. 

Where the rose droopeth 
Let it decay ; 

Some little fragrance 

Yet may delay ; 

Some little dream of good, 

Dimly misunderstood, 

Yet may have sway. 

Where the dream falters 

There let it sleep ; 

Where the joy cloudens 

Leave it to weep ; 

Life has no time for rueing; 

Pallid Regret is undoing 

All it would keep. 

Where Love is shattered 

There let it fall ; 

22 



Sorrow's deceiving 

Who would recall? 
Yet from their ashes dumb 
New life in life may come : — 

Cover them all ! 



23 




I BREATH ED the breathing of the rose 
That all in sweetness did unclose 
With graciousness her lips to me ; 
But ah, the rose did not betray 
One secret of her soul that day — 
Nor will she any day to be. 

I heard the murmur of a sigh 
From sleeping infant lips that nigh 

To heaven and heavenly folk did press ; 
It echoed to me mysteries 
Beyond the earthly stars and seas, — 

But not one mystery would confess. 

I asked the mountains from their blue 
To whisper me some message new 

Learned in most lofty converse ; they 
Were silent as the sky that errs 
In choosing such interpreters ; 

Thus baffled, mocked, in dull dismay, 

24 



I questioned my own soul ; besought 
Some revelation how it wrought, 

And why, and whose the blame of dole 
My soul, aghast with impotence. 
Did bid me, deaf to consequence. 

Go ask the Soul that planned the soul. 



25 



POPPIES 



A WORLD of poppies ! each a world, 
With satellites of dew ; 
Fond suns to slave for them, sea-winds 
To fan the whole day through. 

They queen it royally, in robes 

Of satin, dashed with sheen 
Of pink to scarlet blushed ; pale brows 

Set in a crown of green. 

Their earthly life is all unlearned 

In sin or grief's refrain. 
And yet their unearned heaven will be 

To dull the hurts of pain. 



26 



PLEA OF THE INARTICULATE 

TTTT/F should /speak? 
1/1/ All nature voices 

My need, my dream, my thought ; 
Whate'er rejoices 
Or grieves for me has wrought, — 
W/ij should / speak ? 

W/iejt should / speak ? 

. The morning sun 

Utters in sturdy light 
My hymn ; moons run 

To weave the psalm of night,— 
W/ien should /speak? 

W/iere should / speak ? 
The ocean's word 
Fills half of earthly bound ; 

The wind and bird 
Fulfil earth's utterance round,— 
W/iere should / speak ? 

W/iat should / speak ? 
The voluble bloom 
Of violet's intercessive breath 

In heaven finds room 
Immortal, without death, — 
W/iat should / speak ? 

27 



WITH CHOPIN 

THAT voice of music like an ardent flame 
Enkindles, quivers, hesitates, aspires ; 
It would reveal, yet couches its desires 
In wavering tides; they rise, then seek the blame 
Of ashen silence that with death conspires. 

And, like the flame, not of itself it speaks, — 
Not for itself are syllabled those cries 
Of passion torn and ruined ; it denies 

The human soul that in them lives ; it wreaks 
On us the anguish of a god that dies. 



INEVITABLE 

RONDEL 

BACK by grief's demand we go, 
Backward to the silent land ; 
We who came where flowers did strow 
The way that love had planned. 

Weary waves on weary strand 

Do the hours and moments flow 
At silent fate's serene command. 

Whence we came what thought shall know? 

Know what future life has planned? 
Only this to death we owe, — 

Back by grief's demand. 



29 



AN EXEMPLAR 

STILL fair and true the moon's clear light 
As when in infant life she flew 
Adown the steeps of gulfing night, — 
Still fair and true. 

Now doth her worn-out heart review 

The beauty, glory, and delight 
When first of rosy life she drew 

From out the boundless Infinite. 

Heaven keep our hearts as strong and new 
When over is Life's wrong and right, — 

Still fair and true. 



30 




DECEMBER 

RONDEL 



THE year is overblown ! 
Its petals, one by one, 
Drop pale beneath the sun — 
Drop with no sign or moan. 

Its race is more than run ; 
Who then shall fear to own 
The year is overblown ! 
The year whose work is done. 

A faithful stalk alone 
Lives on : none heed it, none 
And yet the year has won ! 
Those petals are but sown : — 
The year is overblown ! 

31 



THE DAY IS DARK" 

THE day is dark, the wind is cold, 
The rain drips slowly through the trees 
I 've wept through many a colder day, 

'Neath many a darker sky than these, — 
Then why be sad in nature's pain ? — 
The birds are singing through the rain. 

My life, alas, is grown so old ! 

The rain drips sadly through its leaves, — 
But every raindrop in the mould 

May find a fairer flower than these 
That droop and to the winds complain, 
While birds sing somewhere through the rain. 

The maiden spring has half forgot 
Her beauty and the joy of love, 

While drooping buds bewail their lot. 
So chilled, so drowned, no sun above 

To woo them into life again, — 

But birds keep singing through the rain ! 

My spring of life was chilled and drowned 
In many sorrows known of tears ; 

Almost that sun of life was found 

Blurred wholly out in those lost years. 

Yet now they bring no sad refrain, — 

Mj/ birds are singing through the rain ! 

32 



ONENESS IN SEPARATENESS 

BOUND by the sea and sky are we 
To every future, every past, — 
To oldest Adam, ceaselessly. 
And also to the last. 

We come, we go ; — a little spark 
Between the dimness of the past 

And that impending hungry dark 
Upon the future cast. 

A cry of joy ; a cry of pain ; 

A little fateful, loveful ease ; 
Then to earth-mother back again 

Between two silences. 



33 



LIFE — INGENUOUS 



I CAN but reverence 
The meanest thing of sense 
That grows in self-defence. 

The august truth it knows 
Of life, — life's overflows 
And life's occult repose. 

The shyest wild-wood flower 

Reveals a hoarded dower 

Of heavenly peace and power. 

The smallest bird will nurse 
In songs it doth rehearse 
Plans of the universe. 

The tiniest humblebee — 
Brings secrets unto me 
Of some eternity. 



34 



LOVE'S PLEA 



SHALL starshine order show 
And years that meet and part ; 
Shall tides in rhythm flow 

And not my heart, my heart? 

The violet's love breathes low 
In fragrance, — still, apart; 

With love-joy birds bestrow 
The air, — why not my heart? 

Shall skilful night winds blow 

Encadencfed with art ; 
All things in balance go, — 

All save my heart, my heart ? 

Ah, heart ! thy bliss, thy woe 

In sorry sequence start ; 
Can love no wisdom know? — 

Poor foolish, foolish heart ! 



35 



THE FIRST SHALL BE LAST 

THE grass — to wither ; 
The flower — to fade ; 
The sun — to sink ; 
The dark — to invade ; 
The stars — to fail ; 
Love — to prevail ! 

The hope — to droop ; 

The joy — to sigh ; 
The faith — to doubt ; 
The peace — to fly ; 

The dream — to bewail 
Love — to prevail ! 

The babe — to weep ; 

The youth — to fall ; 
The man — to swerve ; 
The age — to pall ; 

The death — to assail ; 
Love — to prevail ! 



36 



SEQUENCE SONNETS 

LATE APPEAL 

I 

" /^^^ OD bless you ! " — almost trite, unheeded 

\^j sound ; 

So often falls it on the casual air, — 
So often does conceal, or half declare, 
A real indifference, or an unfaith wound 
In kindly words, by custom long embound. 
May God forgive us ! Shall we ever dare 
To name Him save in strenuous praise or prayer. 
By humble patience, faith's persistence crowned ? 

God bless you ! O my friend, where'er you are. 

God bless you I O my foe, whatever life 

Enfolds — encrowns you ; — be it joy, or rife 

With penitential woe. Upon your head 

Be bliss if I have wronged you unaware ; 

If living you have wronged me — or, — if dead ! 



37 



LATER APPEAL 



There is naught else, alas, that I can say ; 

Can say or do. Too late it is — too late. 

I have gone past the watershed of fate 
In this life, and the sunset of its day 
Doth scarce a glimmer of lost suns betray. 

And you, my friend, mayhap, have shut the gate 

Of earth ; my foe, mayhap, forgot its hate 
In all the wonder of death's disarray. 

God bless you ! now, — in whatsoever sphere 
Your being gains new foothold, though it be 
The nearest sun resplendent, or lost star 
Still ranging out of mortal vision, clear 
And resonant, in joy eternal free : — 

God bless you ! still I pray, where'er you are. 



38 



THE LEPER'S ISLE 

JUST at the door of the bay, 
Stopping the ocean's mouth, 
Looking north and south — 
And looking every other way — 
Lies and seems to smile 
The sunny Leper's Isle. 

A little temple stands, — 

There, Grecian in color and form, — 
And bravely weathers the storm 
That heaps and curls the glittering sands 
As they shine and seem to smile 
On the wave-washed Leper's Isle. 

Still and level it lies. 

With the Morro frowning nigh ; 
But never a thought or sigh 
The Morro gives to the silent cries 
Or the patient piteous smile 
Of the hapless Leper's Isle. 

At the other end of the low. 
Long line of curving bay, 
Like an azure dream of day, 
High mountains stand, unknown of snow 
They echo a conscious smile 
To the silent Leper's Isle. 

39 



Never a kindly palm 

To cheer the grim repose ! 
Never a lily or rose 
Do I see that ghastly pain to calm, 
Or to feign a kindly smile 
For the barren Leper's Isle. 

Heaven knows that strong hearts yearn 
To help the lives that go 
To that still retreat of woe, — 
That go — but nevermore return 
To bring back sigh or smile 
From the haunting Leper's Isle. 



40 




SENTINEL BOX 



WHAT THEY SAY 



T 



HE old walls crumble 
And wellnigh tumble 

As they shrink and falter away ; 
But they sturdily smile 
In the sun the while, — 

They smile, and they seem to say : 
'' 'T is a better duty 
To moulder in beauty. 

Into living green decay ; 
Better to moulder 
Than guns to shoulder 

And be an enemy's prey ; 
Better to laugh 
At Time than quaff 

The wine of War's dismav." 



41 



TO 

" In the lowest deep a lower deep." 

THE flower that makes one long to weep, 
So steeped it is in loveliness, 
Bears no more honey in its deep 
Than blooms of poisoned bitterness. 

And this thy bitter sorrow, dear, 

All fathomless, misunderstood, 
Bears 'neath its poisoned breath a clear 

And deeper deep of unknown good. 



42 



MUSIC'S MYSTERY 

LIKE to the minor cadence of the sea, 
When all the winds are weary and asleep, 
And reminiscent dreams alone do keep 
Her breath alive in tangled subtilty ; 

Like to the revery that pine trees hold, 

With slow, broad swellings into pensive tones 
That chant out all regret the memory owns, 

When skies look on in sympathy untold ; 

Like to the beating of a heart stripped free 
Of youth and youth's endeavor, fine and strong. 
And all that love once brought, — so comes that song. 

The wordless utterance of that symphony. 



43 



i 

\ 




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^'"' '- — 


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^ -^-^■ii.'^J-'iC'^,^^"-^^^ * 




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iJ 




C^:-j THE PINK PALACE 



T 



HIS house is called a palace, but to me 
Far more it is a fortress, with huge 
walls 

Of sturdy grandeur, and vast echoing halls. 
On mighty ramparts near the fern is free 
To nod in answer to the phantasy 
Of ancient echo whensoe'er it calls 
To mediaeval ghost the past enthralls, 
But cannot keep, — nor yet will quite set free. 



To-day a garden smiles where warriors strode ; 
To-day the stalls are empty ; where the steed 
Of Andalusia swart hidalgo rode 
Now gentle mosses bloom and weed rejoices. 
Near by a chapel stands ; where wounds did bleed 
There soft-eyed nuns now sing with softer voices. 



44 



AFTER WAITING 

I THOUGHT the sensitive rose 
Would never all her secret heart unclose, 
Her hue divine betray ; 
All in the maiden May 
I marvelled, pined, at her reluctant way. 

The incandescent white 

Of the lily's simple soul I thought, aright 
Could not unto the wind 
Breathe out her fragrant mind, — 

Would never to my waiting eyes be kind. 

One day the rose unbound 

Her cincture without any sign or sound ; 

And when the breezes guessed 

The lily's still bequest 
Of sweetness, — then my Love her love confessed. 



45 



LOVE-INCONGRUOUS 

I love to think of thee as far 
Through other lands thy feet are set, 
'Neath friendlier suns than these to walk 
In joy — and yet ? 

I love to dream of thee ; those eyes 

With gentler skies than these are met ; 
And fairer friends do find and bind 
With ease — and yet ? 

My heart is following thee where'er 

Thou lead'st ; mine eyes keep back a debt 
Of unshed tears ; my prayers are all 
For thee — and yet ? 

Thus am I satisfied ; I know 

Thou canst not costliest love forget, 
And I would bid thee linger there, 
Ah, Love ! — and yet? 



46 



DEATH AND LOVE 

DEATH said : '* The world is mine ! A God has 
made 
And cannot now unmake me. Man is born 
To die. The flowers that to the call of morn 
Make answer writ in fragrance ; moons delayed 
In under worlds, then into crescents frayed ; 
Old suns that sink in farthest seas forlorn ; 
The seas themselves o'ermastered, tamed, and torn, — 
All, all are mine! I wait them undismayed." 

Then Love outspake him — Love, most gentle-eyed, 

In voice that echoed buried symphonies 

Of steadfast souls : " I antidote thy spell ; 

I antedate thy being, — a disease 

Of time thou art ! My might shall yet dispel 

This malady, — shall overthrow thy pride ! " 



47 



RONDEL 



AUTUMNAL days, autumnal days ! 
Enclad with scarlet, crowned with gold ; 
'Mid pomp and royalties untold, 
You would but scorn my humble praise. 

Yet memories rule within your haze; 
A dream enthralls your quiet mould : 
Autumnal days, autumnal days, 
You are too young to be so old ! 

Our years a growing chill betrays. 
But Autumn never can be cold ; 
His heart is all too mad and bold 
With life that still in beauty sways 
Autumnal days, autumnal days ! 



48 



THE RIVER 

THE river of my life has run its race 
Through quiet vales, but oftener gorges deep, 
With torrents overhead, and mountains steep 
Their crowns of snow uplifted into space. 
And sometimes did life's waters interlace 
With other streams now hidden in the sleep 
Of burying sands that reminiscence keep 
Of haunting loveliness and poignant grace. 

But now this solemn river wends its way 
Adown to where one almost sees the bar 

Stretching from shore to shore in august sway 
And heaped with reckless riches, while from far 

Strange voices through the azure reaches say : 

"The Ocean calls and bids thee not delay." 



49 



SORROW'S FIDELITY 

I WANDERED far in search of alien skies, — 
Of alien mountains, deserts, rivers, trees ; 

I sought the echoes of Atlantic seas, 
That cradle in their deeps the morning dyes. 
And bury vanquished suns in regal guise 

Of pomp and state 'mid vastest symphonies. 

I sought, too, alien flowers that still the breeze 
With syncopes of sweetness. Overwise, 
I bade the Past behind me long farewell, 

I bade her stay within her cloistered grave 
While I a kindlier future should compel 

'Neath kindlier suns, beside a gentler wave. 
Bound hand and foot She followed ! — still and wan 
She met me here, — and with her grave-clothes on. 



50 



JUST THERE 

JUST there, below the quiet hills, 
Beside the sighing Summer lake, 
With winds all silent, yet awake- 
One knows it by their conscious thrills,— 

There Summer's lagging dark distils 
Serenity, earth's thirst to slake- 
Just there, below the quiet hills 
Where Spring had died for Summer's sake. 

Had gently died,— forgot all ills 
The while her swelling breast did ache 
With beauty,— there our hearts did make 
The fate that ruins or fulfils,— 
Just there, below the quiet hills. 



51 



IN OUR GARDEN— SAN JUAN 

I LOVE the ancient gospel of these trees, 
The night-winds' reverent oratorios, 
The birds' amen in pauses of the breeze, 

The surpliced HHes preaching in soft flows 
With cadenced incense or slow litanies. 



But more to me, perchance, the august breath 
Of ocean with the pathos of a story 

Revealed in all it roars or murmureth 

Of beauty, mystery, of power, of glory : — 

The sea but echoes what the Eternal saith. 



52 



COURAGE ! 

WITH weary heart and weary hands and feet 
Still let us rise and take our sovereign part, 
Confronting equally the bitter, sweet, — 
With weary heart. 

Or should the heart be broken at the start, 

Encompassed with all loss in life's defeat. 
And all that love can wring from sorrow's art, — 

God best of all the broken heart doth greet ! 

Then, valiant, rise ! unvanquished by the smart 
Of grief that is but rounded joy, complete 

With broken heart. 



53 



A LITTLE LONGER STAY " 

O SWEETEST summer's sweetest Day, 
Born from the sky's delicious deep 
Of light and azure, I could weep 
To see thee fade so fast away ; — 
Ah, stay, a little longer stay ! 

Sweet Thought, that came, a restless ray 
From that deep well where truth lies hid 
With stars from heaven's blue coverlid. 

Why would'st thou leave me in dismay ? — 

Yet stay, a little longer stay ! 

Sweet Love ! that came when youth was gay, 
To gild its morning peaks with gold 
And sacred meanings manifold. 

In evening's darkness now delay, — 

O stay, a little longer stay ! 



54 



THROUGH WRECK 



OROSE, rose, rose ! 
A color and light in one ; 
How helpless now you lie, 
Of sweetness half undone, — 
Plucked only so to die ! 

O love, love, love ! 
A beauty and joy in one ; 

How withered now you lie, — 
Of loveliness undone, — 

Born only so to die ! 

O life, life, life ! 
Within your stream how drowned 

Earth's loves and roses he ! 
Your royalty, discrowned, 

Thus only cannot die. 



55 



FROM OUR WINDOWS 

HOW get by heart the lustre of this sky ? 
This breathing ocean that knows not to still 
The heavings of its passionate heart that will 
Not cease, though all the bending heavens reply 
And glow with thrilling, conscious sympathy ? 
How learn the spell of vagrant clouds that fill 
Both sea and sky with colored light, until 
Each would its own identity deny ? 

How know these sharply pointed hills by heart, — 

Palm-crowned, palm-girdled, standing there, apart, 

In slender grace beyond the curving bay, 

Or melting into mountains, unaware ? 

How learn one secret whereby earth doth stay 

Her august heart, and keep it wise and fair? 



56 




OLD PALMS 




ADVICE TO THE POET 

BEAR close within thy hands a cup most deep, 
Enwrought in characters wherein are found 
Figments of sorrows dead, with joys embound 
As dead, and loves that still their clasp would keep 
Tho' long embalmed out of sight they sleep — 
Or seem to sleep — beneath the stirless ground. 
Where but the worm rejoices 'neath the mound, 
And night dews silent tears above them weep. 

'* Ah, this is but the outside of the cup ! 
Within ? " Be there within old lightning tamed 
To bear itself demurely and unnamed ; 

With ice of wasted being fill this up, 
Then not a drop bespill ! and all unblamed 

Thou with the silent gods shalt rise and sup. 



57 



IS NOT— IS 

LIFE ? It is but a nightmare dream 
In that long blissful sleep 
That aeons of eternity 

In zealous guarding keep. 

Life ? It is but a breath that mars 
Translucent heavens of light ; 

A meteor that in midnight glows, 
Then glimmers out of sight. 

Life ? It is but a shadow cast, 

By heaven's incessant sun 
On clouds of matter ; ere you look 

The shadow's race is run. 

Life ? It is but a wounding thorn 
That pricks the perfect rose 

Of spirit ; — but a pang that thrills 
Eternity's repose. 

Life ? It is but a voice that breaks 

Eternal stillness, then 
To immemorial silences 

It falters back again. 

Life ? It is but a semblance, show, 

A sigh that echo stills ; 
DeatJi is the one reality 

Eternity fulfils. 

58 



FOR US 

WHY would we, ingrates, shuffle off the past ?- 
A past that wrought for us in ages long 
And dark with superstition, fear, and wrong. 
And abject ignorance that needs must cast 
Dull shadows on the present they outlast ; 
A past that delved in caverns, and was strong 
To cleave the ocean, and whose footprints throng 
Snow mountain peaks, and deserts hot and vast ? 

This past once pierced the sky that did confide 
Strange secrets which the gods had long retained 
In proud security ; — but stranger far, 
More vital truths for us the poet gained 
From his own soul, too deep for woe to mar : 
Less for themselves than us the martyrs died. 



59 



COLOR-CLANS 

TRIUMPHANT are the colors yellow, red ; 
They are the aristocracy of hues, 
The ruling class that only can infuse 
A gaiety and warmth ; it may be said 
They are the courtly side of color, fed 

By sensuous laughing suns, by fertile dews, 
And haughty tempests that can but abuse 
A right with youth and royalty to wed. 

The blue, the purple, black, and gray. 

They are the shades of musing melancholy, 

Of pathos, introspection, and decay ; 

They lend themselves to age and sorrow wholly ; 

Mysterious background ever ; — on them yet 

Eternity shall blaze its silhouette. 



60 



THE KIND OLD WORLD 

THE kind old world puts on brave face ! 
How cheerful smiles she when the sun 
Is shining patiently in paths of space, 
Or when the day is done ! 

Courageous is the brawny earth 

When spring is withered, summer told ; 

She sings a breezy song of hope and mirth, 
Though gray and faint and old. 

But ah, earth's heart with all dismay 

Is heavier than we could have guessed, — 

Her pain in beauty's loss, in life's decay. 
Still wholly unconfessed ! 



6i 



ITS WAY 

THE little brook below my window dances, 
Whatever suns or stars may have to say, 
Hid far away from every eye that glances 
Adown that way. 

So does my heart forever run to thee 
Whatever joy or sorrow has to say ; 
Hid far away from eyes that cannot see, 
It has its way. 

The hurried brooklet and the urgent heart 

They both must run and neither will hear nay 
For in some distant ocean each has part 
And each has sway. 



62 



LOVE'S INCONSEQUENTIALITY 



T 



HE perfect Love 

All to itself, itself disguises, 
Not knowing that it sacrifices 
Its only store ; 
It would give more. 
For only more — and more. than all — suffices 
In perfect Love. 

The perfect Love 
From its own self, itself would borrow, — 
Would heap on every day a morrow 

In zeal of giving, — 

Only living 
To bear alone, unknown, the loved one's sorrow 

In perfect Love. 



63 



THE NIGHT WAVES 



LET them toss and rave ! 
Soon will come a peace 
They shall win the race — 
Soon shall gain release, 
And surcease. 

Let them sigh and moan 
For the wrecks gone by ! 

Soon they shall be calm, — 
Soon in ease shall lie. 
Nor heeding why. 

Let them weep, lament ! 

'T is alike the fate 
Of waves and mortals ; all 

Must enter by this gate — 
Soon or late. 



64 



BE BOLD; BE NOT TOO BOLD" 

LAMENT OF HEINE 

I SHOOK the stately tree of life 
Its fruit to gather, 
And gain the fairest, — but I culled 

The poorest rather ; 
How should I know the best to find ? 
I found, instead, I had been blind ! 

That fruit once wholly gone, the leaves 

Of red and gold 
Lay beauteous at my feet ; I sought them. 

Over bold ; 
They crumbled in my touch too free, — 
I would that botJi were on the tree ! 



65 




I CANNOT say the nights are lonely here, 
So full are they of teeming, restless things, 
That strive and fly and flit on busy wings 
And in odd, voiceless ways unknown to fear. 
Nor are these tropic nights without a clear 
And pregnant mystery that surely brings 
Strange visions to the unquiet brain, and flings 
A glamour on the day that crouches near. 



But in night-watches, long, perchance, and blent 
With solemn whisperings of the neighboring sea, 

66 




There comes soft solace in the minor strain 

Of passing peasant, simple though it be 
And lonely ; 't is a chant the Orient 
Did send us by the Moors through lonelier Spain. 

NO. 2. 

Is, then, the passion of this midnight song, 

Pathetic iteration, never ending, 

Unconscious, vaguely wild, yet ever blending 
With shreds of patient suffering and wrong 
That beat through sunken ages, silent, strong — 

Is, then, this passion, long subdued, now sending 

New fibres through the heart of nature, wending 
Its way deep in each soul that listens long? 

Are we thus bound upon a wheel of life 

And nature, — wheel that turns its dizzy round. 

Grinding us low with pain and wrong and strife, 
And with no glance beyond, no glimmering sound 

Of worlds to come from which we seem to flee? — 

And shall we never from the past get free ? 



67 



A SPANISH MORNING 

HOW poignant was the sunlight ; 
How sentient and gay 
Were even the purple shadows, 
Mixed with elusive gray, 
When first we took our way 
Up to the Generalife ! 

Snow-mountains wedged the sky apart 
In that cool wilful play 

Some mountains too ambitious like, 
But there they get their pay 
In clouds ; clouds thrive and stay 
Above the Generalife. 

Below, the sombre valley crawled 
With resonant delay 

Down to Granada, — threadbare, rude; 
Half down Alhambra lay. 
That conquered queen — they say,— 
Beneath the Generalife. 

Alhambra conquered ? Ah, no queen 

Is conquered if she may 
Her beauty keep ; — no cruelty 

Shall injure or dismay 

Alhambra, — nor betray 

The pride of Generalife. 

6S 



ST. THOMAS 

NO. I. 

WE came unto an isle that lays its head — 
Its gentle head and feet — on ocean's breast, 
Thus resting ever in unquiet rest, 
As lies a hope by rippling fancies bred 
Upon a heart with dreams immortal fed. 

Fair is that isle which glowing springs invest 
With deathless green ; it is a flowery nest 
For spring unto eternal summer wed. 

Surely, I said, 't is here that peace at last 
Lives on forever, — takes her placid ease, 
Shut in to lonely joys by lonely seas, 

And lulled by ancient siren song and story; 
But when unto the hills mine eyes were cast, 

Behold, the Bluebeard tower, authentic, hoary. 



69 



NO. 2. 

Full, sturdy, tooj it is, this isle, and proud, 
With rocky shoulders firm against the sky, 
Or sloping backward into heights more high. 

And wrapped in veils of flitting, fleecy cloud, 

Or mayhap hurricane that shrieks aloud. 
While all the foaming seas around reply 
In thundering threats of vengeance and deny 

The gentleness so lately by them vowed. 

Stern has thy past been, fair, persuasive isle ; 

Wierd haunt of ancient pirates, and the scene 
Where warring nations played their parts awhile 

And petted or despoiled thee. Such has been 
Thy past ; now we of later history 
With open arms and hearts would welcome thee. 



70 



RONDEL 



I WOULD not that my gentle rose 
Unveil her petals to the wind, — 
The wind to boldness so inclined. 
I would not that she thus disclose 

The sweets no other blossom knows, 

The hue that heaven long since designed 

For her alone — my gentle rose ; — 

The heaven that planned for her is kind ! 

No, let her heart divine unclose 
From stress of inner life, assigned 
To deepest soul, to noblest mind ; 
Thus would I have her heal my woes, — 
My gracious flower, my gentle rose ! 



71 



BELIED 



I 



S winter here ? 

Who has found out this is not 
spring? 



When winds are kind, when birds will sing, 
Who says that winter is here ? 
Where is the clock of the year ? 

Is winter here ? 
'T is summer only knows to bring 
This wealth of wanton blossoming ; 

Where is the clock of the year ? 

Who dreams that winter is here ? 

Is winter here ? 
But winter is a cruel thing, 
'T is nature's part in suffering. 

He knows that winter is here 

Who has a clock of the year ! 



72 



THE OTHER SCALE 

IN seeking all the fine degrees 
Of character and life, we fail 
Because we do not use with ease — 
What Shakespeare never missed — the keys 
Of the chromatic scale. 

The master knows to touch the tone 
Of slender interludes that wail ; 

To deep inweave the minor moan 

That diapasons love to own 
In his chromatic scale. 

Chiaroscuro who would scorn ? 

Where semitones and tints prevail, 
*T is points of light that mould the morn ; 
Through smallest things, things great are born 
In life's chromatic scale. 



73 




THE ONE DOOR 

*' 1 AM the Door that nevermore shall close 

\ Though time run out his sands, and ocean's roar 
In silence sinks where pale oblivion flows, — 
I am the Door. 

" By Me ye shall go in, by Me shall store 
Your wealth in heavenly mansions of repose, — 
By Me not going out forevermore. 

** Beyond all sound or silence ocean knows ; 

Beyond all wrecks that sands of time deplore ; 
Beyond the dawn that through death's orient glows, — 
I am the Door." 



74 



PERHAPS 



MAY one not suppose, 
After all, that the rose 
Knows her own beauty's brightness, — 
Knows the sweetness of her breath 
When the dull night slumbereth, 
And gentle moons forget their whiteness ? 

May one not divine 

The fine stars know they shine 
When dews weep sorry tears, a-cold ; 

When fevered suns have sunk and died 

Within the bosom of the tide, 
And the beating heart of earth grows old? 

May one not almost guess 

Of nature's consciousness 
In our failure and our wrong? 

That she in sympathy for sorrow 

Of poor mortals help doth borrow 
In prayers for us when nights are long? 



75 



THE POET'S MISSION 

THE poet is earth's harvester: 
By all moons, new and old, 
He reaps the ripe grain to inter 
In sheavings manifold. 

He gathers in the ready seeds, — 

Not one will he disown 
Of all endeavors, passions, deeds, 

That other men have sown. 

In summer, winter, snow, or heat, 
He transmutes loss and pain 

To subtle thought, — then at man's feet 
He lays them back again. 

Ours and not ours the harvest is : 
The seeds in earth we cast. 

The poet knows they are but his 
To make them ours at last. 



76 



LOVE AND LIFE 

LOVE is all life's excuse — be it for man 
Who tires of life with but a little use, 
And finds it ended ere it well began ; 
Love is his life's excuse. 

A loveless life were but a vast abuse 

To brutes behind or angels in the van, — 
A question for all answer too abstruse. 

And in that realm beyond our little span ? 

Ah, naught but Love did in that realm induce 
A God to bear the yoke of being — plan 

Love that is life's excuse. 



77 



DERVISH DAYS 

AT SAN JUAN 

MY days here whirl like whirling dervishes ! 
Their skirts voluminous, horizon-wide, 
By hem of mountains bound on either side 
That cloud-capped are as by a Moslem fez. 
Like sprite that comes, then deftly vanishes, 
The tranced feet appear, retreat, then hide 
And to the flying folds their skill confide ; 
This reeling maze each day accomplishes. 

But when the last swift rite is whirled away. 

And with glazed eyes, asphyxiated brain, 

The sunset gloom or glory of the day — 

The final day — is gone, then not unwon 

May peace come at the last, with long refrain, — 

The dervish certitude of duty done. 



78 





HEN Adam erred with Eve to lead the 
way, 

His uninstructed conscience never guessed 
That uncouth thing called sin, and all the rest — 
Regret, remorse, contempt — were in the sway 
Of one who was as beautiful as day, 

So pure as were the flowers upon her breast. 
Or all that breast of love held, unconfessed ; — 
Thus Adam had not learned to say Eve nay. 

But had some ancestor revealed a tale 
Of sin, and how it poisons blood and will, 

Temptation were, perchance, of no avail 
To pristine purity — they might live still 

In unveiled innocence of soul and sense ; — 

We know a broken mandate's consequence. 



79 



WITHOUT ONE, THE OTHER 

THE earth with subtle, myriad voices 
Doth people sea and sky, doth burn 
To fill with potent music all men's souls, — 
Yet is most taciturn. 

She speaks a thousand tongues, and yet 
Not one, though very rough or bland, 

Can we with all our ears on tiptoe learn 
Or hope to understand. 

Shall we, then, faces to the wall, 

Turn back from all that she would send ? 

Or learn her greater mystery, 
Her silejtce comprehend ? 



80 



LOST, BUT GAINED 

YES, I will cease this idle grief ! — 
So weak it is, supine, 
To mourn for any perished grapes 
When I have pressed their wine. 

How full those clusters were, and bright 
Their purple globes did shine ! 

Poor foolish thought that for them longs 
Now I have gained their wine. 

Once breezes loved them, — seemed to kiss 

Their beauty to divine ! 
And yet I know their spirit freed 

Lives better in this wine. 

I sat beneath those verdant leaves, 
Toyed with their tendrils fine, — 

But now a flame renews my heart 
Whene'er I quaff their wine. 

All earthly lot is brief ; these grapes 
Had died and given no sign ; 

Now chill and age but richer make 
Their crimson flood of wine. 



8i 



HER JEALOUSY 

SONNET 

AS where it listeth blows the changeful wind— 
Or loud in storm, or soft in summer ease, 
Around the polar seas, or Cyclades, 
With breath imperious, or with breath most kind, 
And heedful meanings clear, or undefined, — 
So came that love to me. Then, on my knees, 
I took it as we take a God's decrees, — 
In lowly faith and adoration blind. 

Yet, sometimes, phantomly, behind his face 

Another face I saw, — wed long ago ! 

But when I learned my heart did hers displace — 

So regally love's largess was bespread — 

I came to fear some wrong to Jier, — and oh, 

I jealous was ! — but jealous for the dead. 



82 



BY THE SHORE 

THE waves lap idly with the old 
Incessant pain ; — 
Day and night, in heat and cold, 
Till the days and nights are told, — 
Vainly lap ; — overbold 
Is the refrain. 

Up they toil and reach and climb, 

Out of breath. 
Why the beating of their rhyme ? 
Why this struggling race with time ?- 
Struggle hapless; half sublime 

The word it saith. 

Climbing arms and climbing feet ! 

Ever blending 
Cries of failure wherein meet 
Dolorous messages and sweet, 
Fraught with life, and life's defeat, — 

Never ending;. 



83 



THREE SEQUENCE SONNETS 

I. 

MUCH cruelty is in this world we see, 
With pain, itself foreordered, foreordained. 
All things for right of being are arraigned 
And must the legal cost pay ceaselessly. 
The stronger creatures of the teeming sea 
Some urgent right upon the weak have gained. 
And all the weaker still have not disdained 
To wreak a power for life on life, and be 
Unto the weakest, lords of destiny. 
In all the realm of insect life we find 
The same inexorable law, and blind. 
And man ? — ah, more than all Jiis subtilty ! 
Are we, with savages of dire estate, 
Then vowed to worship of a God of Hate? 



84 



2. 

Ah, no, a thousand times it is not so ! 
Life must give place to hfe, and death 
To higher life. The seed that slumbereth 
Must gain a foothold in the world below, — 
Enriched by kindly beings dead will grow. 
Life is so great a treasure ! Nature saith 
At any cost it must be gained ; our breath 
Were slender tribute for the help we owe. 

All things we see are but the alphabet 

Of that great volume time shall yet unroll, — 

A hieroglyph where unborn ages yet 

With keenest eyes shall read plain as a scroll, 

That pain and self-surrender stand above 

All else, — demanded by a God of Love. 



85 



3- 

Else why this strenuous beauty, this despair 

Of ordered yet ungoverned loveliness 

That lifts the heart from grief and nothingness 

And tells us of the Maker-Artist's share 

In all that lives in earth, or sea, or air? 

How sunsets first were painted, both by stress 

Of patient pity for our low distress. 

And reckless joy in His own Soul laid bare? 

Else why do waves in imaged mountains give 
Another Image of deep sanctity? 
Else why do all the breathing blossoms live 
In separate worlds of sweetness, and declare 
That aught save beauty's self is perjury, 
And naught immortal is that is not fair? 



86 



VOYAGE DONE 

WHEN we at last have passed life's wayward 
stream, 
Borne on by treacherous current, vaporous spell. 
By gentle breeze, or whirlwind loud and fell ; 
Past steadfast continents, or transient gleam 
Of flickering isles that sink beneath the beam 
Of purest dawn ; or meteor streams that tell 
Of wreck ; or earHest music changed to knell, — 
What, then, shall all this loss and woe redeem ? 

Ah, at this river's mouth there lies a bar, — 
A bar up-heaped with fragments, treasures lost 

Or unsuspected, — treasures richer far 

Than we had guessed, so countless is the cost : 

Small we, then, backward look with heavy sighs, 

Or to the ocean turn our longing eyes? 



87 



UNFULFILLED 

I. 

THOU canst not come, — ah, no, thou canst not 
come ! 
This is fate's answer, — this her last decree. 
Not any day thy face shall come to me. 
Nor any night thy seeking voice shall roam 
Through chambered spaces of night's clear-starred 

dome 
To one once loved in all of life's degree. 
There is no future that thine eyes shall see 
On earth. It shuts the portals of thy home. 

Now long and heavy years are passed away 
Since all uncounted anguish tore apart 
Our knitted lives ; 't was then thy voice did say, 
As dimmer grew the light in sky, on lea, 
And fainter still the beating of thine heart : 
" Dear, if I can, I will come back to thee ! " 



88 



FULFILLED 

2. 

OR dost thou come in folds of silence wound 
When dreaming darkness fills the cloudful 
skies, 
And other hearts in stolid sleep disguise 
The passions and the fears that day embound ; 
When angels come and go and make no sound ? 
Can other angels come in ministries 
Most still and needful, and shall not thy sighs 
Have right to creep to me above the ground ? 

Half know I not, and half I dare not know ; 

And yet a little I do still believe, — 

A little I believe and hope — that so 

I do from thee most regnant help receive 

To bear life's losses, bear its wakeful woe : 

Could faith like this a human soul deceive ? 



89 



RONDEL 



WHEN shall my love be really mine? 
O gracious hour ! O gracious day ! 
Why will it loiter by the way ? 
Why of its coming give no sign ? 

A thousand fates may grow, decline ; 

A thousand heads with grief turn gray, 
Ere yet my love be really mine, — 

Ere yet my spring shall bring my May. 

How many lips may spill the wine 
Of life, — may gentle hearts betray ? 
How many wedding days delay 

Or ere I drink this cup divine? 

When shall my love be really mine? 



90 




HER AVOWAL 

WELL could think of thee, if any day 
Could bid my soul forget love's high decree, 
That came with thee and could not go away ;— 
I well could think of thee. 



I 



But ah, remembered joys that should agree 

To give a heart relief will only prey 
Upon my foolish heart— my heart and me! 

And thus I fain would almost say me nay 
To needful memories though dear they be 

If thinking did not thus my heart betray, 
I well could think of thee. 



91 



SONNET 

YES, I must sigh for Youth ! but not that it 
Is fair, or to all beauty reverent. 
And oft, too oft, with this alone content ; 
Nor that, or whether Youth would run, or sit, 
Or lie all day where winds and streamlets knit 
Themselves in harmonies of soft portent, 
He understands their word, and what they meant, 
But did not say, — in worship and in wit 

Outsaying nature. No, it is not these! 

Nor is it that enticing paths all lead 
Before him, not behind, — by fine degrees 
Revealing finer vistas without end. 

Where hope forever lures ; — not these I plead, 
But that in every path Youth finds a friend. 



92 



NOBLESSE OBLIGE 

WERE God but maker we were poor indeed ! 
Did He for His own pastime mould, invent 
A creature out of nothing ; circumvent 
His ennui by contriving for its need 
A being fertile in emotion, speed 

Of subtile thought with finer fancy blent 
(Though of that being asking no consent) — 
What claim consistent could that being plead 

For his own ugliness or God's disdain ? 

But God is Father ! Thus a right have we 
For every need to plead, nor plead in vain. 

God oives us all of His infinity ! — 
He owes us more, and yet shall make it plain, — 

For costliest Love is God's necessity. 



9Z 



IN MEMORIAM 

I. 

I KNOW no marvel of his infancy, 
Nor how the new-found burden on her breast 
The mother bore, — perchance too greatly blest 
For ease, — so reckless is love's alchemy. 
Nor know I if his youth gave prophecy 
Of nobler manhood in a soldier's quest, — 
The finest things pursued and still possessed 
In humble courage, manly ministry. 

But this I know : though earth sore needs his worth, 
Heaven has a prior right and needs him more 

For wider work in some unmeasured arc. 
While here half-masted banners tribute pour, 
A woman's heart is breaking in the north ; 
His children wonder why the sun is dark. 



94 



ON THE WAY 

2. 

'1\ /fID all this rush of winged waves on waves, 
iVJ. Where ocean never ceases to outpour 
From far forbidden deeps his strident store 

Of voiceful energy, or sadly raves 

And seems to cry for help that never saves, 
Or doth at times outspeak in measured lore 
To half unwilling ears ; — above, before 

All else there lies a silence, urgent as from graves. 

This hush, this stricken dumbness, speaks in cries 
More loud than ocean's voice to watching ears. 

Far down below, with sealed lips and eyes, 

Safe from all storms and dangers we would flee, 
Is lying one beyond the reach of tears, — 

Already drowned within a deeper sea. 



95 



NEARING 



WHERE 'ER we go he goeth, far or near; 
He doth not question, nor give any cry 
Of joy or wonder, nor doth breathe a sigh. 
And where we stay he stays with aspect sere, 
Unhindered still by any frown or fear ; 
Obedient to our impulses will comply 
With that we bid him, and all harm defy 
In courage that his soldiers held most dear. 

But once the journey ended, sea-dirge done, 
Ah, will not then his long-proved courage fail? 
When he shall come with us in this disguise 
And find no welcome, praise, or trophies won, 
Will he not tremble then, nor blanch, nor quail 
To meet despairing hearts and streaming eyes ? 



96 




CONSOLATION OF A MODERN MYSTIC 



A 



M I old ? 

Withered, faded ? — is my lyre 
All unstrung? 
What matters it ? — e'en though I know 
My stream of life forbears to flow ; — 
God is young! 



Am I weak ? 
Feeble, fainting, half undone 

With the wrong 
Of time and sorrow ; the refrain 
Of loss on loss ; with fate's disdain ?- 

God is strong ! 



Am I evil? 
Vain and selfish, helping none 



E 'en though I would ? 



97 



Foolish, narrow ; overborne 
By doubt, — save love itself — outworn ?- 
God is good ! 



Am I lost ? 
Shipwrecked on the sea of life, 

Well-nigh drowned ; 
Suffocated ; lost to all ? — 
Yet knowing still, whate'er befall, 

God is found ! 



98 



QUATRAINS 

I WOULD not be transparent glass 
Through which my friend my soul may see 
If I would keep my friend, alas, 
I must a faithful mirror be. 



This life we live in is a sieve 

So coarse the good as well as evil 

Will pass, unless we closely give 
Attention to the attending devil. 



For God to live in luxury of heaven 
Would be a sin — could sin not be forgiven ; 
For Him to stay in bliss were dereliction, 
If in our sorrow He had no affliction. 



Life's book of riddles evermore 

This life doth cumber ; 
The answers will not come before 

The final number. 



If I came forth from heaven as poets say, 

I, flattered thus, could wish my heaven to see, 

But, groping here in darkness for the day, 
I cannot find my heaven, nor find the key. 

: .. 99 



FORGET— NOT FORGET 

WE shall forget the squalor, dust, and heat. 
The nakedness, the grime, the shallow pain, 
The abject life unguessing its defeat, — 
We shall forget them, seeing not again. 

But flowery beauty grovelling at our feet ; 

This brightly haunting sea and bay and plain ; 
These mountains that both sky and ocean greet ; 



These ancient walls and palaces that fain 

Would harbor other echoes, and would greet 
Far swarthier faces, — these, their fair disdain, 

-though we cease to meet. 



We shall forget not- 




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